


Going French

by BloodyAbattoir



Series: How To Torment A Shade To The Point Of Insanity [2]
Category: Eragon (2006), The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Crack, Not Canon Compliant, Stereotypes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-03-01 10:58:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18798979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodyAbattoir/pseuds/BloodyAbattoir
Summary: Parody fic based off the fact that the Inheritance Cycle is set in what seems to be a pseudeomedieval setting, combined with the stereotype of the French replacing bathing with heavy use of perfumes and deodorants. Unfortunately for Durza, the 'lovely' residents of Uru Baen seem to have missed the 'use of perfumes and deodorants' when they decided to forgo daily showering.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not canon compliant - the Forsworn are alive at the same time as Murtaugh. Eragon and Brom are chilling around Uru Baen with no issue, and Brom and that pesky Shade are somehow getting along, if commiserating about being surrounded by idiots can be considered getting along.

One particularly hideous creature awoke to find its nostrils ablaze, assaulted by a horrendous scent. It sat up in bed, and took a cautious sniff. However, even that tiny whiff was enough to inspire a strong wave of nausea. Whatever it was, it was terrible enough that a rotting corpse of an Urgal left in the summer sun for a solid week seemed to be absolutely delightful in scent by comparison. 

 

The Shade growled in frustration, yanking on his boots before stomping to the door and throwing it open with such force that it cracked the stone wall it impacted, only to look around in confusion. There was no dead Urgal lurking behind his door, nor was there anything obviously dead and rotting anywhere within the hallway outside of it, as far as he could tell. The only thing that seemed out of the ordinary was Murtaugh, standing in the hallway with what looked suspiciously like a flowery woman's headscarf wrapped around the bottom half of his face. 

 

"What on Earth is going on in this miserable place?" Durza barked at the Rider. 

 

"You have no idea, do you?" Murtaugh asked in reply, his voice muffled from behind the scarf. 

 

The deadpan look on the Shade's face made it obvious that no, he did not have the faintest inkling as to what was going on. 

 

"Ok, so remember that failed attempt at invading France we had last week?" 

 

A stiff nod was all the Shade deigned to give. How could that possibly be relevant to the predicament that he now found himself in? 

 

"Well, there's this stereotype that French people don't bathe, they just use perfume to cover up the stink." Murtaugh explained. For once, his obsession with the humanities had come in useful, and he knew something that the overgrown Spook did not. 

 

"Let me guess, some people around here decided that they needed to go French." The Shade spat sarcastically, only to feel his jaw physically drop when the Rider nodded in response. "Oh no. It seems that Galbatorix is more insane than I previously believed. What's next, Eragon being invited to move into the palace?"

 

"Yeah, about that..." Murtaugh trailed off, scratching the back of his neck nervously. He refused to make eye contact, which confirmed the Shade's worst fears. His sworn mortal enemy would be in the same castle as him. Almost as if on cue, the sound of Eragon whooping and hollering floated along the corridor from somewhere not too far away. A heartbeat later, there was the sound of a loud whack, as if he had been hit. Durza silently thanked whatever gods existed, assuming any existed, that someone had the good sense to hit him. Then, he made a mental note to send whoever that was a thank you card, and perhaps a monetary award while he was at it. 

 

 "You mean to tell me that I dared get my beauty sleep, and the castle has fallen down around my ears in the process?!" He yelped. 

 

"First off, I don't think your beauty sleep is doing you all that much good, and secondly, basically yeah." 

 

Any other day, the crazed bastard of a not-man would have attempted to physically injure Murtaugh for such a nasty comment, but today, he had bigger fish to fry, the largest of them being the fact that he was now apparently required to share a castle with Eragon, the self-same whelp that had made the past year exhausting and stressful. Not to mention, wherever a Rider went, their dragon was rarely far behind. The blue dragon, meanwhile, made it into the top three on his list of 'People Whose Grave I'll Dance an Irish Jig Upon the Moment They Are Buried'. Yes, he did retain lists with such inane names. 

 

"Hey Brom, what's this thing- OUCH!" 

 

Durza felt a grin creep across his face. While the sound of Eragon's ear splitting voice was drawing ever nearer, someone had smacked him for the second time today. He turned around, heading back into his chambers, looking for something that would suffice as a face mask to breathe through until this entire mess could be sorted out. He could thank his would-be savior later. 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

A half hour later found the Shade stalking down the hallway with a large scarf that had been doused in perfume wrapped around the lower half of his face.  _shit_

 

He murmured a half dozen profanities under his breath as he heard Eragon's voice floating down the hallway again, before ducking into the nearest open doorway. That quickly proved to be a mistake, as as soon as he opened the door, he found himself face to face with the Blue Rider. A scowl of displeasure twisted his features as recognition set in. 

 

"Oh  _shit_! You're supposed to be dead!" the boy shouted by way of greeting. The Shade merely snarled in response, growling out "So. Are. You." 

 

From next to him, Brom smacks him with a rolled up newspaper, and chided, "Manners." 

 

This caused both the Shade and the Rider to look at the old man in disbelief, the former of the two repressing a smirk at the way that the older man kept the bane of his existence reined in, if only barely. Was he really insisting on Eragon displaying politeness to someone of his status? Or, more concerning, was Brom insisting that  _he_ display politeness towards  _Eragon_? He wasn't quite sure which of these would have been more concerning, and repressed a shudder at the thought of making small talk and having afternoon tea with the whelp. 

 

The thought of a quick escape flashed through his amalgamated mind, but first, there was something he needed to know. "Ahem. How long will you be... staying?" 

 

"Staying? What?" Eragon asked, his mouth obviously working faster than his brain. The Shade cringed, feeling his brain quickly atrophying from the lack of common sense that the boy displayed. For the second time today, he profusely thanked whatever gods existed, as well as some that didn't, that Brom quickly answered for the both of them. A moment later, he quickly cursed those same gods, as he realized that the old man had not a clue as to when they would be leaving. 

 

He quickly reversed out of the room, unwilling to show his back to the Blue Rider, understandably so, as the last time he had been foolish enough to do so, he had gotten stabbed in the back, quite literally, for his idiocy. 


End file.
